ed in his misery; and he was the more to be pitied
because the sons of Israel are not bloodthirsty, and they know it is
written in their law, "Whosoever sheddeth man's blood by man shall his
blood be shed."

Now one fine day in July, while I was drinking at the Faucon, in walks
Elias Hirsch, just as miserable as ever, with hollow cheeks, hair hanging
in disorder about his face, and downcast eyes. He laid his hand upon my
shoulder, and said--

"Dear Christian, will you do me a pleasure?"

"Of course I will, Elias; only say what."

"Let us go for a walk together in the country; I want to consult you
about my grief. You know many things human and divine; perhaps you can
point me out a remedy for so much trouble of mind. I can trust in you,
Christian, entirely."

As I had already had five or six pints of beer and two or three glasses
of schnapps, there was nothing more to detain me, and I consented to go
with him. Besides, I felt flattered with his confidence in my wisdom.

So we came through the town, and in twenty minutes we were walking along
the little violet-bordered path which winds up to the ancient ruins of
Triefels.

Then, feeling alone, passing between hedges balmy with honeysuckle and
musical with the song of birds, and slowly climbing up to the lofty pines
which crown the Rothalp, Elias breathed more freely; he raised his eyes
and cried--

"In all your theological studies, Christian, have you met with a way in
which great crimes may be expiated? I know that you have studied this
question a good deal. Tell me. Whatever you recommend to put to flight
the avenging shade of Kaspar Evig, I will do it."

Hirsch's question made me thoughtful. We walked together, with heads
bowed down in thought, in deep silence. He watched me, I could see, out
of the corner of his eye, whilst I was endeavouring to collect my
thoughts upon this delicate question, but at last I made answer--

"Now, if we were inhabitants of India, Elias, I should tell you to go
and bathe in the Ganges, for the waters of that river wash away the
pollutions of both body and soul--so, at least, the people of that
country think; and they kill, and burn, and steal without fear under
the protection of that marvellous river. It is a great comfort for
scoundrels! It is a matter of great regret that we have no such river!
If we were living in the days of Jason, I should prescribe to you the
salt-cakes of Queen Circe, which had the remarkable property